


Lethal Weapons

by electricsymphony



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricsymphony/pseuds/electricsymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief vignettes detailing the clandestine affair between Damon Salvatore and Katherine Pierce-the affair that launched hundred year old lies and created century-long infatuations, spun in a way that's never been seen before. 365 days during the year of 1864 is a long time-to make hearts, to break hearts, and to break down defenses you didn't even know you had. Requests taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes** : So, this will be just as it seems-a collection of short one-shots centered around D&K in 1864. They'll always be less than 1,000 words while still trying to convey as much as possible about the relationship and about the scene in general. That's the challenge I've set for myself, since I get quite wordy and preoccupied with silly things. I have a fairly good idea of the few plot lines I'm going to start out with, but requests are definitely awesome and always taken. There's no rules for requests, it can be anything you like, as long as it's D&K and takes place in 1864.
> 
> This first chapter is dedicated to Andy, without whom this never would've been written, for many reasons.

It had been a hot, sticky July evening and Damon and Katherine found themselves sneaking off from Giuseppe's impromptu dinner party while Stefan was otherwise occupied by Nicolette Lockwood shoving her breasts in his face while the younger Salvatore blushed brighter than a ripe peach.

Katherine had convinced Damon to help her steal Jonathon Gilbert's carriage--not that she truly needed the help--and subsequently compelled the driver to take them out of town--no one on the Council actually bothered to supply the help with vervain, not when it forced the vampire population to eat the help instead of them. She'd pulled Damon down by the collar of his blazer and begin placing open mouthed kisses on his jawline while he relaxed back against the seat; she scraped her fangs against the soft skin of his neck and smiled appreciatively at his whimper. His voice was ragged and husky when he responded, "Where are we going?"

"So impatient," she murmured as she kissed him again, trailing a fingernail down his chest, "Can't you just revel in the suspense, love?" He growled at her and she chuckled, sliding herself off his lap, his erection still very much not satisfied. She looked out the window suddenly and spoke up to the driver, "Stop here."

She tugged Damon's sleeve with a mischievously naughty glint in her eyes. "C'mon, I want to show you something."

Damon looked around in confusion. "Kat, this is the RF&P railroad; we're almost in Richmond--what are we doing here?"

She smiled and kept walking. "Well of course you'd know that, my dashing, heroic Confederate and all. We're here, _as I said_ , because I want to show you something--" She continued on, until they reached an open clearing, the dwindling sunset casting a beautiful orange glow on the tips of the trees and glistening atop the surface of rushing stream water.

Damon stood, mesmerized by the beautiful scenery. "How did you even know this was here? When did you find this?"

She put a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him. "Ssh, love. It is entirely inconsequential how I came upon this. What matters is that we're here now, together, alone. Take me here, Damon. Claim this spot as ours."

Damon gave a lewd grin and flipped her so he was hovering atop her, a mischievous smirk of his own gracing his features. His hands tangled in her curls as he stared into her soft, brown eyes. "God as my witness, I love you Katherine."

She chuckled. "You don't need God Damon, all you need is _me_. All you'll _ever_ need is me. All you'll ever _want_ is me."

He nodded fervently, fondling her breasts through the fabric of her dress, undressing her slowly, taking his time to marvel at every each of bare skin revealed to his hungry eyes. "I know it so well, Kat--there's no need for persuasion. I will love you forever, I will never love anyone else. A promise; a promise of my love for eternity."

She looked at up him, her eyes downcast and a hint of sorrow gleaming in her eyes. "You will regret that conviction one day, Damon. Loving me will be your undoing."

He grinned, entirely unconcerned with her prediction. "Then it shall be the greatest undoing in history; I welcome it with open arms."

Her lips quirked in satisfaction at his answer, as she put her finger to his lips, silencing anymore unnecessary declarations. "No more talking, love. Show me how willing you are to destroy yourself for me, darling." And so he did; he shed his trousers, taking her delicate hands into his hardened, sweaty palms and steadied himself, his chest pressed up against her breasts as her hips straddled his waist, his eyes shining with pleasure and anticipation as he positioned his length at her entrance. With the first impulsive thrust into her wet heat, she arched her head back and moaned at the welcome intrusion--a sweet, deliciously addictive noise falling from the most beautiful lips that he'd gladly sell his soul just to hear once more.

And they remained like this, limbs entangled and intertwined together all night long until dusk readily approached, until the sunset fell beneath the trees and until the only remaining light shining above them were stars illuminating a soft, midnight glow on their joined union.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next** : Shortly after finding out Katherine's a vampire, Damon goes out in the woods for shooting practice in the middle of a chillingly cold winter to relieve the stresses of a frustrating dispute with his father and ongoing confusion over the state of he and Katherine's relationship. Katherine catches up with him and suggests as a change of pace he attempt to hunt her.


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes** : So, at almost 2,000 words, it only took me one chapter into this adventure to fail it abysmally. Well, I hope you guys enjoy failures. ;)
> 
> This is dedicated to Eva, whose support of this challenge despite not really being a D/K fan is what motivated me to work on this tonight.

 

**It's The Eyes**

It's the eyes, he's decided. That's the only determining factor. You see, when you stare a man down in battle, you see the _emotion_ in his eyes—the fear, the hesitance, the honor, the lover and the brother and the proud country, the sheen of sweat and the furrow of horror all in the creases of his brow—and you can so much as taste their damn blood in your mouth before you've even spilt it.

_Birds_ —birds are easy. You stare into their eyes and you can't seem to decipher what the glint of light in their haunting, black eyes actually means. They're animals, and you're a human. Your emotions aren't on par, and it's far easier to pretend they simply don't have any.

Pull. Push. Drop. Reload.

Pull. Push. Drop. Reload.

He doesn't even bother snatching them up afterwards, because, in the end, what does it matter? He doesn't shoot them for dinner, he shoots them for sport. When he kills men in battle, they tell him it's for 'honor'. It's for 'pride'. _Bullshit_ , he knows, all of it. It's just that same ingrained fear he's never been able to shake of being the 'disappointment'. The only time in his life that his father ever told him he was proud of him was when he enlisted. He hates this damn war as much as he hates his old man.

And he hates fucking _birds_ , too. When he shoots them, it's with a dark, malicious intent he's scared to think inhabits even the smallest parts of his psyche. He enjoys their screeches of agony before the bullet pierces their stomachs and their limp, dead bodies fall, scattered about on the ground at his feet.

He doesn't kill _men_ with malicious intent, because he's _not_ a murderer. He's sure that Katherine does, though. He can only imagine how gleefully she must've killed Rosalyn, and even though he never liked Stefan's fiancée to begin with nor did he care for her dull, lackluster personality, it still makes him physically sick to imagine the malicious grin on his angel's face as she destroys a human being from the inside out.

The next bullet cuts through the cold frost with frightening accuracy, and the bird falls from the sky with barely a coherent cry of agony before it hits the snow, silent and still, staining pure white with tainted red.

He wonders if his smile of satisfaction is as sadistic as Katherine's probably is.

He grips his gun tighter, purses his lips and grits his teeth in agitation.

She kills men; he kills birds. It's _different. They're_ different. Everything about the whole _situation_ is fucking different.

Birds don't have families, they don't have lovers, and they don't have countries to protect… they're prey, and that's it. It's _hunting_ , not manslaughter. More often than not, he refuses to acknowledge the darkness that he feels pulling at the edge of his consciousness. He _never_ indulges it. Katherine seems to relish in it. He both loves and hates her for that.

"You didn't tell him," a soft voice whispers from behind him, startling his next shot so it's skewed off by a few inches and the damned fucker flies away without a scratch. Damon growls in irritation as he reloads, but doesn't turn around.

"My father… or _Stefan_?" He asks with an acidic bite, "Who is to say I _didn't_ tell, Miss Pierce?"

Her laugh is high and tight, and he hates the way it sends delicious shivers down his spine. "No, you _didn't,_ Damon. He thinks we're all demons sent from the depths of hell to taint and corrupt the innocents…" her lips curls in amusement, but he still isn't looking at her. "You didn't tell him… _why?"_

He takes a deep breath, lays his gun down and faces her, his physical composure a stark contradiction to his true internal resolve. "Is he wrong? Aren't you, all of you… just demons from hell…"

Katherine just smiles. "Demons, perhaps we are—but bred from the fiery pits of hell? I don't speak for all vampires, but _I've_ certainly never been to hell, nor do I have an intention to visit, as it sounds awfully unpleasant."

"You speak of hell very casually," Damon replied in dismissal.

"Forgive me for not being a believer," she snapped defensively; "Should there truly be a hell for corrupt souls to rot in, I would've been sent there a very long time ago."

Her hands go to cup his face now, and he flinches. "Why didn't you tell him?" Her voice… so demanding and so soothing at the same time; such a beautifully confusing contradiction, just like all the rest of her.

"My father is an intelligent man, he will figure it out."

She has the gall to laugh in his face. "Now, we both know you don't believe _that._ Your father is a ignorant, gutless fool with a pair of stakes and a naïve agenda that will get him fried by a bayonet or torn to pieces by an animal with a vicious vengeance… he'd better pray for the former, if he's such a religious man."

Damon hesitates only slightly. "Why did you kill her?"

A simple shrug; a goddamn _shrug._ "She was in the way."

"Of what?"

"My _plans_ ," Katherine bit back, impatient.

"She was Stefan's _happiness,_ and you robbed him of that."

"Oh please," Katherine dismissed with a wave of her hand and an offended tone, "She was Stefan's _cage,_ and I saved him of that."

"And if _I_ had a cage?" Damon prodded, not sure if he wanted the answer.

Katherine's satisfied smile was equal parts cruel and genuinely affectionate, a beguiling paradox that made his heart leap with— _something_. He couldn't quite identify it. Her hands were running down the length of his shirt, playing with the buttons in a playful manner. "My darling, don't for a single second think that this _isn't_ a cage. The only difference is this is one cage I happen to _want_ you to remain in."

His voice was trembling too much to adequately convey how affronted he was by the insinuation.

"And what of what _I_ want, Miss Pierce?"

"You don't know what you want." It wasn't a question; it was a resolute, bitter statement that's truth was painfully poignant and a sharper weapon than the bayonet of his gun.

"I want to kill you," he hissed at her holding back none of the venom he felt, but made no movement to remove himself from her hold.

"You also want to kiss me," she proffered coyly.

"I want to _torture_ you," he refuted.

"And cherish me."

"Burn you…"

"…and fuck me."

"Hate you…"

"…and make love to me?" He wondered if the slight rising lilt at the end of this statement was meant to indicate a question or whether her voice had simply lifted of its own accord.

They both stared at each other, neither saying another word for a moment until she whispered into the cold darkness, "I'm sensing a pattern here."

"I hate what you are," he admitted, and _this…_ this, at least, he knew as an irrefutable truth.

"I'm not particularly fond of humans, either, if we're being honest."

"Were you ever?" He laughs in disdain. It was meant in rhetorical jest, but her face turns dark with a serious demeanor he isn't used to seeing on her features.

"Once," she admits bitterly. "I _was_ human, once, Damon… all vampires were."

He won't admit aloud that this had not yet occurred to him. "Did you… have a family?"

"Once," she reiterates again but offers nothing further.

"Do you miss them?"

"It's been almost four centuries," she tries to protest.

"If I were alive in four centuries, I'd still miss my mother… and Stefan…" Damon cuts her off.

Katherine is eerily quiet before she answers. "Yes… I do."

"Did you love them?"

"Just _her_."

"Your mother?"

Katherine straightens her shoulders, and in a delicate whisper, as if the words are a fragile, invaluable treasure, says, "Елена Цветкова" and the way her tongue rolls each of the letters so carefully—it's natural, uninhibited, raw… _beautiful_ , he decides. He decides it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard come from someone's lips.

Damon is speechless; he's never seen _anyone_ speak something with such emotional conviction. Her lips quirk suddenly, but it isn't in her usual playful or confident manner. It's resigned, modest, genuinely wistful-"Ironically, she was passionate about nothing more so than her faith."

"Is that your surname? Your… original one, I mean?" He tries in vain to attempt to reproduce the name she just said but he stops midway, knowing he could never do the syllables justice.

Katherine stares at him as if she's never seen him before. "No," she says, and her eyes are tired, worn—almost _sad,_ and it catches him off guard. "My surname was after my _father_ ," and she says this with such disdain that he thinks they might have _that_ in common as well… "Петрова—Katerina Petrova," she continues, "Son of Петър."

She looks up at him with an almost gut-wrenching vulnerability, and for the first time since she told him the truth of her nature, he looks at her as though she's a creature to be comforted, and perhaps because of this, she pulls away from him and her eyes harden. He watches this process in rapid motion and can only marvel at how she can mask her emotions so quickly.

"You shoot those vermin with such precision," she admires off-handedly, gesturing to his gun lying abandoned in the snow.

He shrugs it off, "It's nothing but sport."

"It's _impressive,"_ she corrects.

"No, it's _disgusting._ It's a habit—one that I should've have."

She sighs, taking his hand in hers and looking him straight in the eye. "It's beautiful, Damon."

She doesn't say ' _You're beautiful'_ but she doesn't need to. Her eyes say it for her, and his eyes can't help but instinctually return the sentiment. Damon looks into her eyes as if for the first time, and he doesn't see what he expects to see. He sees an inner struggle he knows nothing about, he tastes the thick, watery tears that she's never dared shed for anyone on his lips and he sees his own broken, gunpowder-stained heart mirrored in their deep brown depths.

It's the eyes, he knows. It's always the eyes. It's the eyes that make him hesitant to shoot another human being, it's the eyes that make him so willing to shoot meaningless pigeons instead, and in the end, it's the eyes that make him fall in love with Katerina Petrova.

He will never tell her this—or _any_ one, for that matter—but often, during the many times in the next year before her 'death' that he catches her eye across a crowded room and they share a secret, sly smile, he'll call her _Katerina_ in his mind, but he'll never dare to say it aloud, not even in the throes of passion. She never says the name aloud ever again, and he never calls her by it, not out loud.

But he'll _always_ call her Katerina in his mind, because _that's_ the girl he fell in love with. He fell in love with the girl that claimed to be a demon but spoke her mother's name with the most affectionate tenderness of breath he's ever heard in his life.

(And 145 years later, when he looks down at that same face, as he looks down at a pissed off, sullen and moody _Elena_ Gilbert in a random Duke parking lot and he says it aloud for the first time in his life—'Kat _eri_ na _Pe_ tr _ov_ a, to be _exact'_ —his numb, beaten, black heart still painfully remembers—can't possibly forget—those vulnerable eyes, that fascinating girl with a heart for the broken and the teeth of the devil, the beautiful curve of her seductive lips around words he could never say and ultimately, he remembers that beautiful, terrifying, confusing and consuming moment when he fell in love with a demon.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So... this went nowhere I thought it was going to go. Doesn't everything? The jury is still out on whether I like it. Did you guys like it? :)
> 
> P.S. Katherine's mothers name... if you follow any of my other stories ('Devastation & Reform', mostly) then this will definitely not be the last time you see that mentioned. Just something to keep in the back of your mind if you do. ;)


End file.
